


These Choices Unmade

by TheInverseUniverse



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Episode: s07e21 Reading is Fundamental, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Rewrite, Sarcastic Stiles, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, Stiles in place of Kevin, prophet!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 03:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6103255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInverseUniverse/pseuds/TheInverseUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the lovely sinzh over at livejournal who said "More than anything, I would LOVE to see a crossover bringing Stiles instead of Kevin into the SPN Season 7, ep 21 (reading is fundamental ep)".</p><p>Here you are, sinzh. If you ever see this I hope you enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These Choices Unmade

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by an old post, and spent a car trip with a downloaded script and google drive to whip most of this up.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

“Oh my god, Scott. Calm down,” Stiles rolled his eyes, this little dance was getting old fast. “Go find an actual Wolf to bitch to. This is just your full moon PMSing, and I’m obviously not equipped to handle it.” He hung up, thinking that even though smartphones are awesome, there wasn’t the same satisfaction from tapping glass as there was from slamming down a handset or snapping a phone shut. 

He flopped down on his bed with a sigh and grabbed a cold curly fry from his nightstand. How long had those been there? Hopefully he wouldn’t get food poisoning, he had to apologize to Scott tomorrow.

Stiles knew that his friend was just worried about him, but he could only take so much babying. Ever since they had killed the Nogitsune everybody who knew what was really hiding in the dark treated him like he might break. Poor fragile Stiles. Just plain old weak human Stiles. He wasn’t trained as a hunter, or anything other than the weak link. He laid there for a few moments, stewing in his thoughts.

That was, of course, until a monumental crash and flash of light startled him up and had him diving for his trusty bat before he realized it was just thunder. Thunder from lightning that was way too close because there is a delay between the light and the sound because sound travels slower than light and takes an extra five seconds to travel to a point a mile away and if it was registering at the same time then it had to be like the house’s lightning rod close and- Focus, Stiles. 

He put the bat back down, feeling embarrassed that he got so worked up over something as normal as lightning. It didn’t exactly prove his friends wrong. He jumped again when another crash sounded. Then another, and another. He stared out the window, almost being blinded by the near constant white flashes. What the hell? How is that even possible? It had to be something supernatural, but what could pos- 

Stiles’s rambling train of thought was cut off when he was struck by lightning.

\------

To say that Stiles was confused when he woke up on his floor surrounded by broken glass would be, in the mildest of terms, a complete and utter understatement. He distantly heard his phone ring and then Scott’s voice over voicemail.

“Stiles? Where are you? You were supposed to pick me up ten minutes ago. I’d get my mom to drive me but apparently every woman in the surrounding counties is having their baby, so get your ass over here before we both get detention.”

Stiles immediately scrambled up, ignoring the stinging from the glass. Just as he was about to grab his book bag he froze, and bizarre symbols flashed before his glowing eyes.

Next thing he knew it was night, and he was driving his jeep on an unfamiliar stretch of highway. He swerved when he suddenly became aware of his surroundings as his phone rang and he picked it up as he regained control of his car. He shakily brought it to his ear and answered. “Hello?”

It was Scott. An extremely frantic Scott. “Oh my god, Stiles. I’ve been trying to call you all day. You didn’t show up for school so I went by your house and your Dad didn’t know where you were and your room's demolished and I tried finding your scent and the only thing in just under a four and a half mile radius from your house is ozone.”

“I-I don’t know where I am. I think I had a seizure or something last night and then I woke up and then suddenly I was-” Stiles stiffened as his eyes glowed and he lost control of his words. “I’ve been chosen. It’s my birthright.”

Safe to say, that did absolutely nothing to calm down his best friend. “What?! Stiles! What are you talking about? Chosen for what? Oh god is he back?!”

“I have to keep going. I’m not allowed to stop,” Stiles continued in a monotone, slowly lowering his phone as he turned onto an exit.

“Stiles! Where are you?! Is someone with you? Just hold on, we’ll find you.”

\------

Stiles was freaking out. If he could he would be having a major panic attack right about now as he snuck into the mental hospital. These places lost what little charm they had a few possession induced visions ago, and now brought up bad memories. The general badness of the whole thing was made a thousand times worse by the fact that he currently was not in control of his body.

He felt like a puppet as he waited for four people to leave a patient’s room before dashing into it to grab a broken clay tablet in a duffel bag. He tried to stop, tried so hard he thought he’d have an aneurysm, but he couldn’t do anything. Cold terror had filled him a long time ago, and now progressed to the point where he was fairly certain his heart was pumping liquid nitrogen. 

The nogitsune had to be back, and had taken back control over Stiles. This was bad, very very exceedingly bad. As he was nearing the exit, one of the men who had had the tablet in the first place shouted after him to stop and he bolted outside, zigzagging across the lawn to avoid being caught.

It was honestly surprising how fast he was going, staying ahead of the giant. Running away from werewolves and kanimas and japanese demons clearly got you into shape, plus the influence of whatever was possessing him. Which again, was bad. But he seemed to have slightly more control over himself this time. It was less like being directly controlled and more like an irresistible compulsion. Maybe the Nogitsune was weaker this time after they had trapped it.

Suddenly he was on his back staring up at a woman in scrubs who had clotheslined him.

“Not demon or a chomper. What the hell are you?” She asked in a drawling voice.

Stiles stared at her wide eyed, she clearly knew about the supernatural. Chompers must be werewolves. Oh shit were they hunters? That would not be good, not at all, because hunters were always not good they always ended up hurting more innocent people than killing any malevolent monsters. Focus.

He was pleasantly surprised to find he could speak. “I’m a... Stiles Stilinski. I play lacrosse. I think I’m possessed again. Which is not good. Are you a hunter? Because if you are you don’t have to kill me, there are different ways to get people unpossessed. We were able to do it, but it actually might not have worked.”

“I’m not going to kill you.” The man who honestly had way too much hair tried to grab the duffel bag and ended up pulling Stiles to his feet when he didn’t let go of it. The man tried to yank the bag away from him, with absolutely no success.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologized as he held firmly to the bag. “I really can’t let go of it. This is actually really weird, cause last time I got possessed I couldn’t do anything. But this time I can talk and stuff but I still can’t let go of the bag so I don’t really know exactly what’s happening.”

\------

Stiles was sitting on the bed in the room he had stolen the bag from, still clutching it to his chest like his life depended on it. He looked at the two people warily, knowing he was in way over his head. The man was definitely a hunter, and he was fairly certain that the woman was not a real nurse.

The not nurse chuckled to herself. “You really stepped in it, kid. Oh man.”

Stiles glared at her icily, she was not helping his panic levels. “All I know is that this thing is for me, or at least whatever made me take this knows that. I’m supposed to keep it.”

“Good luck,” said the woman with what could almost be a snort.

The man also glared at her, warming him very slightly in the teenager’s eyes. “But you don’t know what it is?”

Stiles shook his head. He honestly had no idea what it was, just that it was heavy and magical. And that he was irresistibly drawn to it.

“Open it.”

He hesitantly moved his arms, finding that whatever pull that was on him was slightly weaker now and unzipped the duffel bag. He pulled out two pieces and fitted them together like puzzle pieces. As soon as the two clay blocks touched they fused together in a block of white light.

He carefully picked up the third piece and placed it with the others, healing the tablet. “Woah...” He said softly, in awe of the magic. He peered at it closely and discovered he could make out some words on it. “It’s writing.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we get that,” said the hunter impatiently.

Stiles frowned, peering at the tablet that moved around in his vision. “What’s Leviathan?”

“What?” demanded the hunter, who still hadn’t given his name. “You can read it? Is that what it says?”

“Sort of. It hurts a little. Like looking through somebody else’s glasses. But I think it... It’s about Leviathan, how it came to be. God locked ‘em up far away, right? Like in jail... because they’re so... They’re...” Stiles looked up with horrible realization. “They’re real, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, Stiles. They- they are. And they’re here,” explained the hunter.

Crap. Crap on a cracker. So werewolves and druids and demons weren’t enough, Leviathan had to be too. And apparently they are the scariest things in the monster line up. Crap. And of course he gets wrapped up in it, of course. Because Stiles Stilinski can’t be anywhere near anything supernatural without getting dragged in.

The hunter pressed on, “Does it say anything about how to kill them? Cause that’s- that’s kinda been a problem.”

“Oh man, you really are a hunter, aren’t you? Aw, hell. And I don’t know. It’s not normal reading. It’s hard to focus on it too long.”

He heard the woman say, “Sam. Something’s up.”

So that was the hunter’s name. Good to know. It would be annoying to just call him hunter.

“What?” asked Sam as the lights began to flicker.

Stiles looked up and saw that the woman now had solid black eyes. Shit. He shouted and scrambled back away from her, just barely managing not to completely panic.

“Stiles. Hey hey hey. Stiles.” Sam tried to calm him down. And it really wasn’t working because shit she is not human, and probably a monster and what the hell is going on. He really didn’t want to die and-

He was pulled out of this thoughts by glass shattering and a woman appearing. “Demon.” She looked dramatically at another man who had appeared with a rustling noise.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” demanded Stiles. “Demons?! Again?!”

She ignored him and flicked two fingers, throwing the demon into a wall. He stared at her, horrified.

She stepped forward menacingly. “A demon whore and a Winchester. Again.”

Sam stepped towards Stiles and the demon, but the woman stopped him with a shout. “Step away from the prophet!”

The teenager, and apparently prophet saw everyone staring at him. “Who? Who, me?”

“Sole keeper of the word on earth, we are here to take you,” explained the woman. Or at least she used a voice that sounded like explaining, but didn’t actually explain anything.

“What do you mean take?” demanded Stiles. “No one’s taking me anywhere.”

The woman looked at her companion and ordered, “Kill the demon and her lover.”

Said demon was currently trying to prop herself up on the wall. “That’s not how it- we’re not-” As the suited man approached her with his hand out, she slashed at him with a triangular knife, causing white light to spill from the wound.

“Where did you get that?!” demanded the woman as she marched towards the demon, who was still holding the blade defensively.

There was a rustling and a second man in a trench coat appeared, smiling like he was at a welcome home party instead of interrupting a battle to the death. And possible kidnapping attempt, as it was starting to look like.

The first man gazed at the newcomer with disbelief. “Castiel?”

“Hi,” greeted Castiel softly, looking at the man like an old friend.

“You’re alive?” Demanded the man who was still holding his wounded hand.

Castiel smiled and looked at both suited intruders, shrugging as if to say ‘I’m right here’.

The woman looked at him icily. “You.”

Castiel seemed to sober slightly, moving from joy to nostalgia. “Hello, Hester.”

“You smote thousands in heaven,” Hester accused, stalking forward. “You gave a big scary speech and then you were gone. What the hell was that?!”

“Rude, for one thing,’ offered Castiel. He was obviously not all there, and the occupant of this lovely room. Great.

“Where have you been?” wondered the still unnamed man.

“Oh, Inias, Hester, I... I know you want something- answers,” explained Castiel in an apologetic voice. “I wish it could be that- There are still many thing I can teach you. I can offer, um, well, perspective! Here.” He held out his hand, pointing one finger at Hester. “Pull my finger.”

Hester looked at him like he was absolutely insane, a theory Stiles was rapidly becoming more sure of. So he might be kidnapped by these creepy people in suits, who this obviously insane guy used to be one of. This was not good. How the hell had his life gotten so messed up?

“Uh... Uh...” Castiel looked around the room desperately, knowing this wasn’t going however he had planned. “Meg will- will get another light, and I’ll blow it out again. And well, this time, it’ll be funny, and we’ll all look back and laugh.”

Hester looked at him, torn between pity and disgust. “You’re insane.”

“Hey,” said a voice from the doorway where a man dressed similarly to Sam was standing. “Heads up, Sunshine.” He slammed his hand against something on the wall outside the door and suddenly there was a massive flash of light, and suddenly Castiel, Hester, and Inias were gone. The man stepped into the room. “All angels blown back to their corners. We got like three four hours tops.”

The demon, Meg apparently, walked forward, still holding the silver knife. Sam stared at her, “Meg, where did you get that?”

Meg shrugged. “A lot of angels died this year.”

“WHAT’S HAPPENING?!” shouted Stiles, thoroughly overwhelmed. “WHY THE HELL ARE TWO HUNTERS WORKING WITH A DEMON, SINCE WHEN ARE ANGELS REAL, AND WHY THE HELL DO THEY WANT TO TAKE ME?!”

The newcomer stared at Stiles. “What is that?”

“It’s, uh... Stiles Stilinski. He, uh, plays lacrosse.

\------

“So these Leviathan monsters are real. And angels? Like fluffy wing halo dudes?”

“No, uh,” explained Sam. “No wings. No anything.”

“No, junk. Junkless,” said Dean. He was Sam’s brother and a hunter. The names Sam and Dean Winchester sounded very familiar to Stiles, but he couldn’t quite place it. “So, Stiles, you can, uh, read the chicken scratch on the God rock, huh?”

He tried to say something but the words wouldn’t quite come out as Dean continued. “And you’re saying that there’s some sort of a ‘How to Punch Dick’ recipe in there somewhere?”

“I don’t really know what you’re saying, who’s Dick, and why would they ever use that name?. But anyway, it seems like kind of an ‘In Case of Emergency’ note,” explained Stiles as he looked back and forth at the two hunters. “What did they mean by prophet?”

“Oh no, really?” groaned Dean.

Sam grimaced and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what the angels said.”

“I don’t want to be a prophet. At all. Not even the tiniest bit,” insisted Stiles.

“No, no you really don’t,” agreed Dean, which obviously did wonders to calm him down.

Meg interrupted them. “Gentlemen we’ve got to start running and hiding. Or do you want to tangle with those wing nuts twice?”

“I’m sorry, did you say we?” Demanded Dean.

Meg gave him a look that accurately displayed just how stupid she thought he was. “I’m on the angels’ radar now. You think I don’t need a little safety in numbers?”

“Alright. We’ll go to Rufus’s cabin. Kid can do his book report there,” announced Dean.

“You know, I’d actually rather head back to Beacon Hills,” drawled Stiles warily as he stood up. “So I’ll just be on my way...”

Dean fixed him a look that quite effectively conveyed that he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. “You really want those winged dicks coming after you at your home? If your family tried to stop them taking you they’d have no qualms hurting or killing them.”

Stiles paled and gulped, putting the tablet back in the bag and shouldering it. “I’ll translate it. But only if you promise that they won’t go near my dad.” 

No way was he letting his dad get wrapped up in any of this. He’d almost gotten him killed with the darach nonsense and then almost killed him himself when he was possessed. He couldn’t put him in danger or let him get hurt again.

“We’ll do everything we can,” said Sam in a resigned and vaguely guilty voice. “But the best way to keep him safe is to not go anywhere near him until we get this whole thing sorted out.”

With a determined look, Stiles nodded resolutely. “Let’s go.”

Meg chuckled, obviously enjoying pissing everyone off. “How exciting. A road trip.”

\------

When he woke up Stiles looked over at the demon sitting next to him in the car and gasped slightly.

“What?” asked Meg?

He sighed and fixed himself in the seat. This situation was so messed up, more so than any of the others before. “It’s nothing. Just... kinda hoped that was a messed up dream. And now my life... my pa- friends...”

He was cut off by Meg’s cell ringing. Since when did demons have phones? “Hi, Castiel.”

“Cas? Where is he?” demanded Dean, glancing back from the road.

“Shut up,” barked Meg before shifting her focus back to the phone call. “No no, Cas. You talk. Perth?”

“Perth? As in Australia?” questioned Dean incredulously, clearly not liking being cut off from the conversation. Why was the angel is Australia? Shouldn’t that spell have blasted them back to heaven?

“What dogs?” Meg turned to the other occupants of the vehicle. “He says he’s surrounded by unhappy dogs. Oh, okay. He’s at a dog track in Perth.”

Stiles saw the exasperated shake of Dean’s head and wondered what the nature of his and Cas’s relationship was. He seemed weirdly attached to an angel with serious mental issues, so they clearly weren’t working on mutual need. Why was it that hunters always seemed to have an ulterior motive? These guys were obviously not telling him a lot of things, but they didn’t seem to be quite as manipulative as the Argents.

“Yeah, they’re unhappy ‘cause the rabbit’s fake,” explained Meg. “Listen, we’re on highway 94, North of St. Cloud, Minnesota, just passing mile marker 79.”

There was a rustling noise and suddenly Castiel was filling the empty seat between the demon and prophet. Stiles stared and barely held down a less than manly noise. While it certainly wasn’t a new thing for people to suddenly sneak up on him, werewolf super speed and all, he was not used it happening in cars going 70 on the freeway.

“Stiles this is Castiel,” introduced Meg lightly, like he hadn’t just magically appeared. Although that probably was normal for a demon. Did he mention how screwed up his life is?

“You’re one of the angels?” wondered Stiles. The man’s unblinking stare was unnerving. Being booped by him was more so.

The angel turned to the demon and questioned her worriedly. “Meg, are you hurt?”

“Shut up,” Meg brushed him off.

Dean took back some semblance of control of the situation. “Guys, what happened back there? Who were those guys?”

“They’re from the garrison- my old garrison. Look’s like Hester’s taken over. We were assigned to watch over the earth,” explained Castiel, like this was perfectly normal. Which it was not. Not normal at all. “Often, it was boring. The wars were very boring... the sex, you know, the repetition. Anyway, I was their captain. Isn’t that strange?”

Stiles had to agree that yes, it was strange. Everything to do with this guy was strange. And to help the strange party, he kept getting strange looks from Sam and Dean. They were thankfully putting off asking strange questions about Stiles’ strangeness until they got to the strange place they were heading.

“Cas, why are they pissed at us now?” asked Sam. Which honestly, seemed pretty futile. This guy clearly wasn’t up for straight answers.

“You know, those racing dogs were absolutely miserable. They can only think in ovals.”

Dean interrupted him, sounding for all the world like a frustrated parent. “Cas! Don’t make me turn this car around! Why are angels after us?”

God... his dad was going to be so worried. He’d been reported missing, and according to the not as hushed as the adults thought whispering, kidnapping was suspected. Why did everything like this have to happen to him?

“Are you angry? Why are you angry?” And goddammit if that didn’t make the teenager feel like the worst person in the world just hearing it. How could a grown ass angel sound so helpless?

“No- I’m...” Apparently Dean felt the same way, which was incredibly guilty. “Can we please just stay on target?”

“There is no reason for anger,” assured Castiel. And again Stiles was inclined to disagree. He was pretty angry at everything so far. “They’re only following protocol. If the word of god is revealed, a keeper of the word will awaken. Like this hot potato right here.”

The teenager leaned back and smacked at the hand tapping his nose. “Don’t do that. Personal space is a thing, and I think you should try it out.”

“Anyway,” continued Cas, ignoring him. “Garrison law dictates you take the keeper, to the desert, to learn the word away from man.”

“What kind of sense does that make? He has to tell us so we can use it,” emphasized the bemused driver.

“And I personally don’t like deserts. Like at all. They’re kinda hot and sandy and when you do things away from man in the desert you usually have to deal with the heat and sand and lack of amenities. And I’m being ignored, cool.”

Cas continued like he hadn’t said anything. “That’s god and his shiny red apples.” 

What even? “I can’t live in the desert!” Implored Stiles. “I actually want to finish high school on time.” And he didn’t want to have his friends and hometown to be destroyed by supernatural awfulness is his absence. Which was bound to happen at some point. So him getting back soon would be really nice.

“Okay screw the garrison. We need the tablet to end Dick Roman’s ‘Soylent us’ crap,” exclaimed Dean, nearing losing his patience again.

The angel leaned forward conspiratorially. “If you want the word, you’ll have to duck Hester and her soldiers.”

Perfect. Just avoid the frigging angels from frigging heaven that could frigging fly!

“You’re in our corner, right Cas?” asked Sam.

“No, I don’t fight anymore,” explained Cas stoically, sounding far more serious than he had up to this point. “I watch the bees.”

Stiles was silent for a few moments, knowing that this probably was serious news to the two hunters, especially since this guy apparently used to lead a heavenly army. But then he couldn’t take it anymore. “Okay, seriously! I am not going with those psycho angels and I am not going to desert. Am I guessing right that when you say you need to keep the word away from them you mean me too?”

Sam, who clearly had much better people skills than his brother turned to face him. “Yes, it does. Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe. It’s what we do.”

\------

“I know you’re probably hungry,” explained Dean as he led Stiles down the stairs. “So once we get settled in upstairs we’ll get some dinner going.”

As soon as he looked around the room, the pale teenager froze, and became drastically paler. The table was covered in weapons of various levels of sharpness, with the walls following the same theme. And the sturdy metal chair draped in chains did nothing to calm him down.

“This looks like a hunter torture dungeon,” he said, verging on panic. Very unhappy memories of the Argent’s basement were starting to pop back up. He looked over at the hunter who was clearing the weapons off one corner of the table. “Oh god, is this your hunter torture dungeon?”

“What? No this isn’t a... hunter’s don’t have torture dungeons,” Dean rolled his eyes and stepped towards him.

Stiles stepped back, eyeing the rust covered scythe held loosely in the man’s hands. “Y-yes they do. All the one’s I’ve met have. Kate did and Gerard did and Chris does, although he doesn’t use his anymore. And honestly I’ve been making it a goal to never ever go in one again. Bad memories and just bad things that happen in them. And this one looks even creepier than Gerard’s and I’m kinda freaking out and I think I might be having a panic attack and oh god I hate hunters...” his panicked rush had turned into panicked breathing but he fought it down and raised a hand to stop Dean. “No. I’m good. No panic attacks.”

Dean stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Okay... You wanna explain that little rant?”

“Uh...” Stiles looked around the room for an escape from this conversation and decided to just push past Dean, yanking the tablet from his arms and clearly off a bigger space on the table with a shove before plopping down in a chair and looking at the tablet. “Just some PTSD I thought got buried by different PTSD, but guess not. I’m just going to read...”

Dean knocked the chains off the wooden chair and sat down to face him. “You already knew about the supernatural.” It wasn’t a question. God he hated when people did questions but not questions. They were just to put an awkward pause in a conversation and throw the other person off their game. Which he already was so the little trick was not appreciated.

He hesitated then nodded. “What gave it away? Talking about being possessed again? Or shouting about why hunters were working with demons?”

Dean paused then chuckled softly. “Fair enough. So how? Why?”

“It’s a long story,” Stiles ran his hands through his hair with a sigh. “But I have for a while. And I’ve also known hunters for a while. Hunters who will massacre a whole extended family, human children and all. Hunters who brainwash their own granddaughter to turn her into a psycho revenge killer. Hunters who like to tie teenagers up in their basements and torture them. So excuse me if I don’t automatically trust you with my heart and soul.”

Well that was a nice overshare.

Dean stared at him, looking horrified, guilty, and put upon all at once. He sat forward and Stiles knew there was about to be an even more awkward conversation.

“Listen, kid...” the hunter sighed and dropped his head for a second before looking back up. “Hunting’s a hard job. And sometimes there are casualties. Human casualties, they can’t be avoided.”

Stiles opened his mouth to correct him but Dean pressed on.

“And I’m so sorry for what happened to you. But when a demon’s possessing someone, they have to take a backseat to the demon’s other victims. Since most people who were possessed die, and the meat suit most likely already is. So sometime tough moral compromises have to be made, ones that hurt some people. But help a lot more.”

“What...” Stiles was honestly confused. What was he talking about? Demons? He hadn’t mentioned demons. Oh... his comment about being possessed. It probably sounded like Gerard had tortured a demon for info while he was being possessed by it. Which was not at all how it went down.  
He chuckles darkly, earning himself a weird look. “No. That’s not what happened.”

Dean looked at him apologetically. “I’m sorry but...”

“He was running experiments involving pain thresholds and electricity on Erica and Boyd. Not because they were hurting anyone, or because that information would save lives. Just because he wanted to.” Stiles leveled a steady look at the hunter. No one could excuse Gerard’s actions. “And I wasn’t possessed then. I was a completely human sixteen year old he gave a beat down to send a message to my best friend. But of course he was completely justified. Because obviously all hunters are.”

And... he might have just made one of those hunters very angry.

“I’m- I’m sorry.”

Or not. Which was good.

“That should never have happened. It sounds like that guy was more of a monster than a lot of the things we hunt. I hope you know that me and Sam won’t hurt you, we’re only trying to protect you and make sure we can get the information we need to stop a very bad monster.” Dean offered a smile.

Stiles nodded awkwardly, feeling like a little kid, and went back to the tablet, immersing himself in the puzzle of deciphering it.

After a while it began to shake, moving rapidly in and out of focus. He set it down, rubbing at his forehead and fighting down suffocating thoughts. He abruptly stood up and backed away from the table, trying to regain control of his breathing.

“Stiles...” muttered Dean from where he was half asleep in his chair.

“This is too much! Werewolves, kanimas, even fucking demons I can handle! But angels? Heaven? Being a prophet? No! I don’t want to be a word keeper!” Stiles felt himself rapidly losing the ability to breath steadily. He gasped and supported himself against the table. It was too much too much. He couldn’t handle this. Maybe the stress of deciphering the tablet was making things worse, but this was insane! Him, a prophet?! He’d never even been to church!

“Looks like we’re brown bagging it,” announced the hunter as he stood up and grabbed a brown paper bag.

“I am not ready to fit angels into my,” gasped the teenager as the bag was held over his face, “messed up life.”

“Okay, there we go.” Dean patted him on the back. “That’s it. That’s it. Just breathe. Take it easy.”

Stiles nodded and grabbed the bag, breathing into it as he calmed down.

Dean sighed and looked at him sadly from across the table. “Oh, I don’t know, man. What can I say? You’ve been chosen. And it sucks. Believe me. There’s no use asking ‘why me?’ Cause the angels- they don’t care. I think maybe they just don’t have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just... breaks them apart.”

Stiles hesitantly put the bag down, again feeling embarrassed. “I-is that what happened to Cas? He tried to care, but it broke him?”

“God, kid...” breathed out Dean, running a hand through his hair. “You’re too curious for your own good. Yeah, it is.”

“If you don’t mind me asking...” hedged Stiles. “How’d it happen?”

Dean chuckled bitterly. “Trust me kid, if this has been too much, then what he did will break you worse than him. But he only had good intentions. All that idiot’s every wanted to do was help people.”

Stiles nodded, looking down somberly for a moment. Dean obviously cared about his friend, but was really struggling with what he had done. Maybe switching topics would be safer. “I just want my friends and family to be okay.”

“Then do your homework.”

\------

Stiles woke up with a jolt. He must have dozed off, and was woken up by a loud bang. The kind of bang you hear when a door is blasted off it’s hinges. Oh what his life had become when he could recognize that noise.

He had gotten up and begun sneaking slowly up the stairs when there was the sound of wings and the man- angel, oh shit- from before appeared next to him. 

He yelped and fell backwards, but was saved from tumbling down the stairs by the angel, his name was Inias, grabbing his arm. “Prophet, be careful.”

“Don’t call me that!” shouted Stiles as he found his footing again. “I’m not a-”

Suddenly he was in the main room of the cabin. “Oh my god!” Okay holy crap, he had just teleported. That was weird, and he was not looking forward to doing it again. Because seriously you don’t just sneak up on a guy and then teleport without warning- Focus.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back off,” demanded Dean, looking between Stiles and Hester. “We’re actually trying to clean up one of your angel’s messes! You know that.”

“He’s right. An angel brought the Leviathan back into this world, and- and they begged him. They begged him not to do it,” explained Cas remorsefully. 

That explained that. Cas had brought the Leviathan back. Why? How? And why would that break him? It probably wasn’t the full story. Speaking of breaking, Inias was not breaking his grip. Holy crap angels are strong.

“Look just give us some time, okay? We will take care of your prophet,” proposed Dean. 

That plan was much better because while the hunters were hunters, at least they hadn’t just straight up teleported, or tried to kill anyone to get to Stiles. “I personally like that plan better... Being ignored. Got it.”

“Why should we give you anything...” demanded Hester in disbelief. “After everything you have taken from us? The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost! For that you’re going to pay.” She stalked menacingly towards Dean, but Castiel jumped in front of her.

“Please,” he pleaded. “They’re the ones we were put here to protect.”

“No, Castiel,” said Hester, looking far too remorseful for what she was about to do. She backhanded Castiel, sending him to the ground.

Inias and the third angel in the room stepped forward to hold back Sam and Dean, releasing Stiles. The teenager looked around the room, wishing he had his baseball bat.

“No more madness! No more promises! No more new gods!” Each declaration was punctuated by a brutal punch, before she held up one of the shining silver blades from before.

Oh god, she was going to kill him! Stiles looked around the room, spotting the angel blade Meg had before. He slowly stepped towards it, making sure to remain unnoticed.

Inias ran forward, grabbing the other angel’s arm. Hester, no! Please! There’s so few of us left.”

Hester simply punched Inias across the face with the hand holding the knife.

Stiles reached the knife and made eye contact with the demon.

“You wanted free will,” spat the angel at the one beaten and dazed on the floor. “Now I’m making the choices.”

As she raised her blade, Stiles tossed his to Meg. White light blazed from her chest as the demon ran her through and left her to fall to the ground.

“What? Someone had to.”

Stiles stared down at the body, and suddenly felt very sick. Giving a demon the means to kill felt horribly familiar. It brought back memories of sterile walls painted in horrible red. Memories of running a sword through his best friend. Memories of the darkest time in his life.

He ran. Out the door and into the night.

He hadn’t gotten far before he fell to his knees and began retching. Not again, not again. It was his own stupid fault this time. No one was possessing him. He decided to throw that demon that blade! It was his fault that woman was dead!

“Stiles?” A voice called out, making him jump and make a noise that was completely manly, of course.

Stiles sighed and pulled himself off his knees and moved so he was sitting against a tree with his legs tucked up. “Yeah... I’m here.” If the hunter was going to kill him they might as well get it over with.

Sam walked into sight. “Are you okay?”

“O-of course I am,” answered the teenager sullenly. “But Hester isn’t.” He ducked his head, not wanting anyone to see him like this.

Sam sighed and sat down across from him. “She was going to kill Cas and then most likely me and Dean before taking you.”

“That doesn’t give me the right to kill her!” shouted Stiles suddenly. Why was Sam making excuses for him?

Sam looked on unfazed. “Most people would say it does. But you didn’t even kill her.”

“No,” scoffed Stiles derisively. “Just threw the blade to the demon that did.”

“Stiles.” Sam looked him in the eye intensely. “She wasn’t even human.”

“You don’t have to be human to be a person!”

The hunter sighed and stood up, offering the teenager a hand. “Either way. You didn’t kill her.”

Stiles didn’t look at him and climbed to his feet on his own. He shoved past Sam on his way back to the cabin, thinking himself in knots.

\------

Stiles finished his final translation and handed the notebook to Sam as Dean walked over. Thank god that was over.

“Thanks, Stiles,” said the hunter. “Not a lot of people could have handled this.”

“You doing alright there, chosen one?” asked Dean with a grin.

Stiles rolled his eyes because really? That's the joke he went with? Hunters... “Yeah I'm okay,” he automatically answered with a grin. “Just glad to be able to get home.”

Dean nodded and clapped his shoulder. “Well it was good meeting you, kid. Hopefully we'll never see each other again.”

“Yeah,” added Sam, smiling as warmly as the slightly broken man could. “Take care of yourself, Stiles.”

“Yes sir,” agreed Stiles with a sarcastic salute. While the last few days never happening would be best, and as much as he wanted to wipe last night from existence, the Winchester brothers weren't half bad.

Inias approached them from his conversation with Castiel and addressed the teenager. “Are you ready, Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles nodded and shouldered his bag. “Let's hit it.”

\------

Stiles appeared in his kitchen with the two angels and saw Scott and his dad standing there with a deputy he vaguely recognize from the state police.

The moment they popped into existence Scott whipped his head around and flashed his eyes. “Stiles! Get away from him!”

“No they're helping me! They brought me home!” shouted Stiles placatingly. A duke out between two angels and a werewolf would not be good, not in the slightest.

“Oh thank god,” breathed his dad. His relief at his son’s safety was so palpable that everyone in the room could feel it.

The deputy stalked forward, “I don't believe that.”

Stiles only had time to wonder what this guy's deal was before a hand was plunged into Inias’ chest, and black goo bubbled out of his mouth. “Rock beats scissors. Leviathan beats angel.”

“Holy shit!” shouted Stiles. This thing had just killed an angel! With its bare hands!

Scott surged forward in full wolf mode, ready to attack. No no no he couldn't! The leviathan would kill him. This had to be a leviathan after the prophet because he could read the tablet. This was bad very bad and he had to do something. He couldn’t let anyone get hurt.

Stiles jumped between Scott and the monster, putting his hands against his friend’s chest as the other angel died. “Don’t, Scott! Those two it just killed were angels! Honest to God angels and if they can't do anything neither can you!” Oh god it would kill his friend and it would be his fault. Of course the angels wouldn't be the only ones after him, it was so unbelievably stupid to think everything was alright once the angels were off his tail.

“Stiles, get away from him,” ordered the Sheriff. His gun was drawn and pointed at the monster that was currently licking the gore off its fingers with an amused expression. This was very very bad it would kill his dad too and oh god.

“Don't!” Shouted Stiles again. He had to convince them to stand down. He had to. “You can't kill it, even hunters can't!”

“I'd listen to him,” said the monster casually as it shapeshifted into a Latino man. “Nothing in the world can kill leviathan, except maybe your son. If we let him get far enough.”

Stiles took a deep breath, his panic almost never took over in the heat of the moment and wasn't going to start now. He could control this situation. He shifted so that he was blocking his dad's shot and still held a hand out to stop Scott as he turned to face the monster.

“You don't want to kill me. You want me to translate the Word of God for you. If you hurt the people I care about I won't do it no matter how much you torture me. I can be pretty damn stubborn. But if you leave them and everyone else in Beacon Hills alone I'll go with you willingly.”

The leviathan grinned. “After you, prophet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Cliffhanger, I know. I'm not sure if I'll take this further, but it definitely has potential.
> 
> The pack would be after the people that took Stiles, can you imagine them finding Crowley's torture chamber after he's already been rescued and finding his finger?
> 
> The angst is strong with this one. Anyways, thanks for reading, and feel free to drop a few words below!


End file.
